Date Night
by CuteElfKai
Summary: John arranges a night out with Harold


John was distracted, nervous, his hands were sweaty, and he'd almost dropped his gun twice. It was unusual, normally he was fully focussed on the job in hand, and today he wasn't. He knew that if he didn't push the distraction to the back of his mind he could end up injured or worse. While in the CIA he'd seen other operatives die because they were distracted, not concentrating on what they were doing. He was determined that it wasn't going to happen to him, not today. Today was an important day.

A shot whizzed past him causing him to pause, he ducked behind some big barrels, dragging the person he was there to protect with him, trying to see where the shots were coming from. The warehouse they were trapped in was very dim, the overhead lighting not up to much even though it was daylight outside. The breathing beside him was slightly laboured, the person he was helping wasn't hugely fit and they had been constantly moving trying to get out of the building.

His mind was working quickly, trying to work out how many people there were left in the building and making a plan for a possible escape route. John checked his gun; he had a few rounds left in it and one more clip which he knew held 15 bullets.

"Should be enough" he murmured as another bullet flew passed his ear, he fired back in the direction it had come from, and was rewarded with a thud as the shooter hit the floor groaning.

Finch's voice came over his earpiece.

"Mr Reese…. John….. Is everything alright?"

Silence.

"Mr Reese…." he repeated.

"Finch" John acknowledged "need a way out…" he said firing his gun again.

Finch gave him the position of the nearest doorway in relation to their position, and keeping behind as much cover as they could he half pushed and half dragged the victim, towards the door. Finch informed him that the police had been called; Fusco should be there shortly to take him off his hands. John grunted his acknowledgement, the sooner he could hand this man over to Fusco the sooner he could concentrate on other things.

Fusco was waiting for them by the time they got outside, he filled him in on who the man was, asked him to make sure he got home safely and pointed out that there were several mob members inside the building that would likely need an ambulance, and then, before Fusco could say anything, he made his excuses and left.

Looking at his watch as he went back to his car, it was mid-afternoon; he still had plenty of time. He smiled wryly, today was his day off but as usual the numbers came, and had to be dealt with regardless of the time of the day or night. This number had and interrupted his plans for the morning. Luckily it hadn't taken too long to wrap up the case. He would have a discussion with Harold later about it; Harold would then file everything away ready for the next number.

Back at his apartment, coffee in hand, John paced, it was something he rarely did, but he had energy to spare and wouldn't calm down much until the adrenaline rush he'd felt while working (heightened by his nervousness) had subsided. He'd been stupidly distracted, could have got himself killed.

His stomach rumbled, and he'd missed lunch as well so he made himself a sandwich, his heart wasn't in it, and though he tried to eat he found that he couldn't. He felt sick.

"I've got it bad" he thought,

He hadn't felt like this since the very first time he'd had been out on a date, when he was a teenager, his friend had set him up on a blind date and that one had ended in disaster he remembered. Tonight he hoped was going to be different in that he was older, more experienced and plus he knew his date even if his date didn't know he was on a date. But it did nothing to calm the butterflies threatening to burst out of his chest. Lionel had called him on occasion "Mr Tall Dark and Dangerous", he grinned, running his hand through his hair, he didn't feel it at the moment, more like "Mr Tall Dark and Terrified, with a capital T." he said to the room

Putting his coffee cup in the sink he went into the bathroom, stripping he turned the water on and turned it up to the massage setting as he stepped into the shower. The water felt good, flexing and stretching under the powerful water stream he began to relax. He washed every part of his body with a thoroughness that bordered on obsessive. He tried not to think about tonight, he and Harold were going out, together. It was no good, his cock was too interested in his thoughts of Harold and in the end he gave in and started to stroke his growing erection. It didn't take him long to reach his climax.

He felt more relaxed after that. Turning off the water as he stepped out of the shower, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He took another and as he towelled his hair dry, he looked closely at his face in the mirror, he was torn between leaving the little bit of stubble on his face or shaving. In the end he opted to shave.

After a few months of working with Harold, John had begun to feel better about his life, he was doing something useful again and he enjoyed it. His CIA training told him that he wouldn't know much about Harold right from the beginning and over time he'd slowly started to let go of his frustration of not knowing everything, he accepted that Harold was a very private person and that maybe he would share things eventually. Nevertheless he was glad that Harold had found him and offered him the job because otherwise he would have drunk himself to death by now or perhaps if that wasn't quick enough he'd have thrown himself off a bridge or under a subway train.

Gradually, they had formed an unspoken agreement; John would stop following Harold, trying to find his home and where he went when he wasn't in the library and Harold would give him some snippets of information, such as the eggs benedict in a certain diner were very good, and that he should try them. Recently he'd told John that his favourite flavour of ice cream was vanilla and that the best time to eat it was in January.

They had got on really well for the most part but occasionally they argued. John reasoned that working so closely together there were bound to be disagreements. Usually one or other of them backed down, agreeing to disagree. But there were times though, when John felt the need to take his real anger out on the punching bag down at the gym.

The only other real bits of information that Harold had shared were about his relationship with Nathen Ingram, whom he'd known since his days at MIT and that they had started a business together which had ultimately lead to the machines creation and Nathen's death. The other thing he knew about Harold involved a woman called Grace. Harold had explained that she was (or had been) his fiancé. He claimed that he still loved her but she thought he was dead, that it was all in the past and there was no going back to her.

This John realised was one reason why he was so nervous about this evening. Because if he was wrong about Harold…. Well he didn't want to think about it, only time and this evening would tell.

Harold treated him as a work colleague and there was friendship and trust growing between them. Harold was kind to him, got him anything he needed, including the loft, patched him up when he was injured, and at least twice he'd actually saved his life, the gunshot wound he got when Snow was after him had done some real damage, if Harold hadn't have ignored his plea to stay away, he'd have died. Then there was the rooftop and the bomb vest. Never had John felt so helpless or afraid for himself and for Harold. Luckily Harold had managed to diffuse it and his respect for this eccentric little man with his sticky up hair, bespoke suits and limp had changed into something more like affection.

He was content to a certain degree with the status quo, he brought them breakfast and drinks every day, they saved people together in the field or with Harold in the library providing intel while he was out tracking down the latest person of interest. They relied on each other, perhaps a little too much. As his feelings for Harold had grown he found himself wondering about the man under the suit. Tonight it was his intention to find out how Harold really felt about him.

They had been on dates before, well not really dates. They had gone out for the occasional meal together and gone to the opera (which he hated). Harold liked to go to the cinema, not to see the usual run of the mill stuff from Hollywood, he favoured foreign language films with subtitles, often in black and white, John wasn't too keen on those either, he often complained that it was hard to read subtitles and watch the intricacies of the film at the same time. The next time he complained about it Harold suggested that when they had some free time maybe he'd like to choose where they went next.

He smiled, it was that conversation that had ultimately led to tonight's outing and his distraction from what he'd been doing earlier.

In the end it had taken a great deal of planning to make this evening happen, he'd even resorted to talking to the machine, making it clear that he didn't want any numbers coming up during the evening, whether the machine would take notice or not was another matter, but it had helped him when Root had taken Harold, so he was fairly confident it would help him this time too.

Harold hadn't asked about the night out but John felt certain that he would have been trying to find out without asking him directly. Harold didn't like surprises, he liked to be in control, have everything worked out to the last detail with several back up plans in case anything went wrong. It had been hard but John had managed to cover his tracks, he was (or had been) an international spy after all. Covert operations were his speciality.

There had been raised eyebrows on Harold's part when John had asked for the occasional day off but Harold had made no comment. It had taken several weeks but at last everything was in place. He had told Finch that he would pick him up from the safe house at 8pm.

John laid out his clothing for this evening, new suit, new underwear, new shoes and socks. Carefully removing the boxers from the package he put them on, the silk was soft against his skin, sliding his hand over the fabric he briefly imagined Harold's hand in the same place. His cock twitched in response. John's new suit was still encased in the suit bag he'd brought it home in. He marvelled that he'd managed to take some time and have the suit made especially for this evening without Harold knowing about it. He unzipped the bag and took out the suit. The fabric was a wool and cotton blend, pale grey in colour, there was a white shirt, and the tie was a dark sapphire blue with a matching pocket square. He dressed carefully, he didn't normally like to wear a tie unless it was a bow tie, as it was all too easy for the bad guys to use as a weapon but for tonight he was making an exception.

Arriving at the safe house, John went upstairs to collect Harold. He was waiting for him, dressed in a dark blue suit; he looked very smart, smarter than usual if that was possible. He'd even changed his glasses so that they matched his suit. Harold looked at John, he'd got used to seeing him in the dark suit and white shirt that he wore every day, in his mind he whistled, in appreciation of how handsome John looked in a different colour. "Handsome; really? Yes….Mind whistling?…..Get a grip Harold!….. Where had those thoughts come from?" He wondered.

Even so he couldn't resist taking a closer look at the suit, he admired the tailoring, the sleek style of the jacket, and the fine stitching around the button holes, he touched the fabric it was soft, he approved. All the while John stood and let Harold look at him. He had deliberately chosen this suit colour, knew Harold would want to inspect it. Looking at the length of the pants Harold made approving noises over the way they hovered over his shoes.

In the car Harold finally asked where they were going. John told him they were going to a club, it was a place where they could relax and listen to some live music and also have a leisurely evening meal in private with no cameras looking at them. He hoped that Harold would like it.

The club was exclusive and opulent, the décor in the foyer, muted reds and gold. At the desk John gave his name and they were shown to their table. The dining room was brightly lit for the moment, once all the patrons had arrived John knew the lighting would go down. The dining tables were all arranged to give the diners as much privacy as possible while still giving them clear views of the stage and dance floor. John had requested one of the booths situated along the wall, here they could talk without being overheard and John still had a view of the exits should they need to leave suddenly.

Once they were settled a waitress came over and took their drinks order. Soon the lights dimmed and a singer came out and began to sing. The music was soft and romantic, John hoped that Harold was going to enjoy this evening. He drank his whiskey quite quickly and ordered another, fidgeting, he was still nervous; he hoped the alcohol would help calm him down a bit. They ordered their food; and Harold chose the wine to go with their meal.

When their food arrived, it looked delicious. They ate mostly in silence, listening to the music. John had commented on how nice his steak was and Harold had agreed that the food was good. They talked briefly about the case they'd wrapped up that day but John wanted to keep the evening work talk free, so he changed the subject as quickly as he could, commenting on the colour scheme of the club and how comfortable the booth they were sitting was. It was one of the older establishments in New York catering for people who wanted to spend a more private evening, away from any prying eyes. After dessert they had coffee and tea and more drinks, Harold was pleased that he was able to have his favourite Sencha Green tea.

If Harold had noticed the slight tremor in John's voice when he ordered his meal, he didn't comment on it but he had noticed some other things about John, the slight shaking of his hand when he'd picked up his glass; the faint flush to his face, his eyes darker looking than usual and of course he's already noticed and commented on John's new suit.

He sat back in his seat, and looked at John, he was staring off into the distance, listening to the music, swaying slightly in time to the sound, he looked more relaxed than Harold had seen in a long time, and there was the hint of a smile on his face. The sapphire tie really brought out the blue in his eyes he thought. Harold frowned, "why was he so fixated on the tie and the colour of John's eyes" he wondered.

John realised that Harold was looking at him; he turned with a grin on his face. He lifted his glass in salute to Harold.

John's voice was husky from the whiskey, he said "Are you enjoying this Harold?"

Harold toyed with his drink; he smiled at John and nodded. He thanked him for a lovely evening.

"So far" John had replied. Harold noticed the way his whole face joined in when he smiled and the way his eyes sparkled in the light. (Thinking about his eyes again) he sighed.

"So far?" he queried

John was laughing, "Harold" he said his voice pitched low so that Harold had to lean in closer to hear him, "it's not over yet."

Harold felt John's warm breath on his neck as he spoke, he thought he felt the light brush of John's lips on his ear but dismissed it as his imagination. Harold felt himself blush at the thought. Straightening up John was pleased with himself, he'd noticed Harold's blush, and he hoped that Harold was going to get the idea of what was going on soon. His next move would leave Harold in no doubt as to his motives. The atmosphere between them was about to become much more intimate.

John slid closer to Harold their thighs almost touching; he placed his hand on Harold's leg and, watching his face, gave it a gentle squeeze. Harold was surprised. He wasn't sure what to make of it. But he didn't move away from John's touch.

Harold's mind was working overtime, there was something going on here that he was missing he was sure. John had gone to a lot of trouble to make this evening special, he'd got a new suit, he was clean shaven (for a change) and now this blue eyed Adonis was squeezing his thigh. Adonis? Where did that come from? He swallowed. Suddenly everything clicked into place and Harold realised what was going on, this wasn't just a night out with a work colleague or a friend; it wasn't just another night out because there was nothing else to do. This was something else…. this was a date….. a proper… honest… to… goodness… date.

And he really, really wasn't sure how he felt about that, or what he should do about it.

John's hand was sliding along his thigh stroking him, getting close to his groin, so Harold did the only thing he could and placed his hand on top of John's, stilling it for a moment.

They sat listening to the music for a bit, hands on Harold's thigh. Couples were beginning to get up and go on to the dance floor; the music was soft and gentle. The singer was singing a romantic song; and Harold began to quietly hum along. John had never heard Harold do such a thing before, he had supposed that Harold's taste in music would have been confined to classical and opera, and when he said so, Harold replied that it wasn't necessary to really like a genre of music to appreciate the beauty of the tune and its message.

The next tune was an instrumental piece, a saxophone started playing low and slow, the music rising and falling. John turned to Harold, gesturing to the dance floor, "Dance?" he said.

Harold shook his head, "I don't dance, at least not anymore" he replied

John knew that Harold was referring to his back injuries but wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer, so sliding around to the edge of the seat he tugged Harold along with him. They moved over to the dance floor, the lighting here was darker than at the tables, couples were holding each other and moving slowly to the music.

John drew Harold close to him, "Just follow my lead Harold, I've got you, I won't let you fall" he murmured as he put his arms around him. Harold put one hand on John's chest and the other around his waist. Lost in the music John's head touched Harold's. His heart was racing, Harold was so close to him, he could feel the heat from his body, and he inhaled to catch Harold's unique scent, expensive cologne mingled with the citrus soap he used. He savoured the feel of his body pressed against him. John wished the tune would go on forever; he didn't want to let Harold go just yet.

The music ended and reluctantly John led Harold back to their booth where they sat down. John was quiet, staring into his drink, swirling the amber liquid around the glass. He was feeling warm and wanted to take off his tie and undo his shirt buttons, the collar was feeling a tad tight, but he resisted, this place had a dress code.

Realising that John was treating this evening as a proper date, Harold analysed his feelings for John. He had to admit he had enjoyed the music, the food, the atmosphere, even the feel of John pressed against him, and supporting him as they'd swayed together. He'd surprised himself by admitting that he'd even enjoyed John's hand on his thigh. But was he ready to admit to anyone including himself that he felt an attraction to this man in a suit. Somewhere at the back of his mind he remembered telling John that he could have anything he wanted from Harold, all he had to do was ask. Was this whole evening about John asking him for him? Well he thought if John really wanted him, he would do his best to give John what he desired.

There was obviously some attraction on his part but until now he hadn't really recognised it as such. He told himself that he just enjoyed John's company and that's why he didn't discourage him from coming to the library when there was no need to, why he kept asking John to accompany him to the opera, the cinema and sometimes out to dinner. Before John he'd been content to do all of these things alone.

Harold was curious about the music "John, do you know what that music was called?" he asked.

Harold looked at John; the lighting was subdued but not enough to cancel the sparkle in John's eyes as he smiled at him.

"It's called Songbird, Finch." And you're my little songbird he thought.

Harold smiled then, "Ahh…." He said "It was lovely"

He had to admit that he had been worried when he'd agreed to let John to choose their next night out; he'd been expecting a Hollywood film or a visit to a very noisy bar, John had tried several times to get him to go for a drink after they'd finished for the day but he'd always declined. This club had been a total surprise, it was perfectly private and the atmosphere relaxing, the music was romantic, the company was …...trying to get his attention.

"Harold?..."

"Harold?…"

"What is It John? He asked

John's nervousness had returned, running his fingers through his hair he began. "Do you mind if…." He trailed off. "That is…would you mind if…?"

"If what John? You have me at a disadvantage, what do you want? You can have anything it is in my power to give you know that. All you have to do is ask"

John took a deep breath, "Harold" he began again.

Harold waited.

"Ask me, John" he said

John let out the breath he'd been holding while deciding what to say, in the end he decided actions speak louder than words, he moved as close as he could to Harold, put his hand to his face and turning his head gently placed a tentative kiss on Harold's lips. He was surprised when Harold's response was to deepen the kiss, his tongue demanding entry into John's mouth, their tongues danced around each other until they were breathless, and Harold had broken the kiss.

Harold's face was flushed; his heart was beating loudly in his ears, his throat was dry, he'd enjoyed that more than he thought he would or should. When Harold looked at John he saw raw emotion on his face, his eyes were darkened with desire, he was smiling, and his lips glistened wet and pink from the kiss. At that moment Harold truly fell for John. He stroked John's smooth cheek, felt the warmth of the man as John leaned into his touch.

"Harold" John whispered his voice low and raspy. He looked at the older man.

"What is it John?" Harold replied, "What do you want?"

John thought for a few moments, "I …" he hesitated, "I want…" he took Harold's hands in his and taking a deep breath he said with a voice heavy with desire "I want you, Harold,… I…. want you."

Harold looked at his employee, his friend and decided that he could no longer deny his feelings for this handsome man. He exhaled slowly and in a quiet voice said, "Then I should do my best to give you what you desire."

He leant forward and kissed John again. "Let's go home John" he said, he took out his phone and called for his driver to bring the car around. It was waiting outside for them when they came out. John opened the rear door for Harold and then walked around to the other side and got in.


End file.
